


The Red Lantern

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Will Graham, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Blood and Injury, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Canon-Typical Violence, Creampie, Hallucinations, Injury Recovery, Knotting, Loosely Based on 'Ready or Not', M/M, Mating Bites, Mind Palace, Murder Husbands, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Hannibal Lecter, Post-Canon, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Table Sex, Top Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25507903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: After the Fall, Hannibal and Will find themselves in a quaint little town in the English moors. Hannibal, predictably, starts to make friends. When his new friends invite them for a night of games and friendly company, everyone gets more than they bargained for.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 38
Kudos: 309
Collections: Hannigram A/B/O Reverse Bang 2020





	The Red Lantern

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VergofTowels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VergofTowels/gifts).



> Thank you SO much to @vergoftowels for the fantastic prompt. I loved writing this idea and it was a lot of fun <3

Hannibal is, at heart, a social butterfly. Will never expected him to change that, even after their night with the dragon, the consummation of their bloody delights ending with mouthfuls of sea water and days spent on a little rocking boat, not knowing if the other would survive the ordeal. Long nights were spent in their shared mind palace, Will constantly checking if Hannibal was conscious enough to join him there while they slipped in and out of the effects of morphine and antibiotics, stitches taken out and checked, bandages changed, sharing body heat and comfort on a tiny bed in the middle of the Atlantic.

They had survived, because life is funny like that. The ocean spat them back up like a child might reject a mouthful of vegetables, and God, it seems, has no interest in dealing with them quite yet.

They're in England, now, in a collection of towns that have become a larger one. On one side of the river resides the working class, and on the other, wide-spread estates for the wealthy. The moors are heavy with fog and chilly at night, and sometimes Will can hear something howling in the distance.

Hannibal has already started making friends. He has money, Will knows this, offshore accounts and assets stretching as far as the British empire once did. They recover. It's a long and slow process, tempered only by the gentle satisfaction of finally being with each other, far away and out of the scope of law enforcement. For now. They may move on, one day, but in this little haven in the middle of nowhere, fog laden and windswept, they are content to rest and recuperate.

Cabin fever affects Hannibal worse than Will. After three years in jail, denied even the most perfunctory of physical closeness and soothing touches, Hannibal wants to stretch his legs, make friends, recreate a social circle that suits his sensibilities. They have to be careful, Will warns. No one is actively looking for them, and it will be a while before there's any kind of correlation made between the body of Francis Dolarhyde they left behind, and their disappearance, but Hannibal must be careful not to make a spectacle of himself.

"I assure you, darling," Hannibal replies, "it's just a matter of friendly conversation." His eyes gleam brightly when he smiles, sharing their little inside joke.

Will sighs, turning his head to nuzzle Hannibal's hair. They cut it short in prison, and it's growing, but has yet to recover the length it had been the entire time Will knew him during their courtship. It's kind of nice, seeing Hannibal's neck constantly on display, a tempting slip of skin between his clothes and his jaw just begging to be marked.

The time for coyness, for reserved touches, is long past. Will cannot deny their connection any longer, even if he wanted to. Hannibal is his, in mind and body, Will's perfect equal and opposite. They've been too sick and weak for anything more than light petting, but Hannibal purrs almost constantly whenever Will is in the same room as him, and Will can't deny that touching Hannibal, resting together in their cramped living room, is far more satisfying than any facsimile of closeness he shared with anyone else.

It is a delight, simple and animal in nature, to see how eagerly Hannibal responds to him. How close he presses at the slightest invitation. It conjures in Will instincts he rarely ever allowed himself to feel: the insensate desire to protect, to mark, to conquer, to devour. To make sure Hannibal's eyes always shine when they meet Will's, to always see that not-smile bulging his cheeks and crinkling his eyes. To hear him purr and have the scent of contented Omega permanently embedded in his lungs.

"I just want you to be safe," he confesses. "You've never been on the run before. Not really."

Hannibal doesn't protest. He tilts his head, letting Will scent mark him with a gentle brush of their cheeks. His arm, around Will's shoulders, is a heavy and comforting weight. His fingers curl in the sleeve of Will's shirt and he lets out a soft hum.

"You'll protect me," he replies with a smile. The sentiment makes Will purr, warmth settling heavy in his stomach and his head. The scent of a content and happy Omega is one of the sweetest in the world, floods Will's mouth with saliva and makes him ache to touch, to soothe, to make the house stink of that scent.

"I will," he promises, though he knows he doesn't have to. Hannibal is more than capable of taking care of himself, but submitting to Will's implicit power as Alpha, acknowledging that there has been a shift of dynamic between them and admitting to Will's greater knowledge of the lawman's mindset, it's nice. It's soothing.

Hannibal smiles, and turns his head. Their noses brush, stubble on Will's cheek catching, and Will smiles into their kiss. It's chaste, warming his stomach further, and he rests a hand over Hannibal's chest as he has become used to doing, checking that his heartbeat is remaining steady and strong. The scar on his cheek aches when he smiles, dimpling twice on one side. Hannibal kisses the line of it, lashes low.

"Do you have someone in mind?" Will murmurs, leaning back on the couch as Hannibal continues to plant soft kisses to his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw. His mate is so touch starved. Will can sympathize. Even without the gift of his empathy, Hannibal makes it no secret how awed, how grateful, how quietly shaken he becomes whenever Will lets him close. There is so much awful, terrible beauty between them, Will knows Hannibal thinks it a miracle that they ended up surviving and getting to enjoy this.

"As a friend?" Hannibal teases. "Or a meal?"

"Both, I suppose."

Hannibal laughs, a warm puff of air over Will's ear that makes him shiver. "This community is too tight-knit to hunt within," he tells Will. "We will have to cast our gazes farther out. Once we're settled."

Will smiles. "So, friends, then."

"Yes." Hannibal cups his face, careful not to aggravate the scar. The saddle of his hand fits perfectly beneath it. He rests their foreheads together as Will rakes his nails through his short hair. "The Montgomery family, for now. There's something…interesting, about them."

"Oh?"

Hannibal hums, and nods. "They are quite fond of games," Hannibal tells him.

"Our kinds of games?"

He laughs. "I assure you, darling, I doubt there is any equal to us."

Will smiles, tilting his head to bare more of his throat for Hannibal's seeking lips. There are no mating bites there, yet, they have been too injured and weak to do anything so passionate. Mating bites should be placed during a proper mating, and Will sees it like an oncoming storm, but is content to let it linger, for now. He doesn't want to exacerbate any of their injuries.

"They've invited us to dinner," Hannibal says. "Tomorrow night."

Will hums, arching a brow. "And you accepted."

"If you're amenable," Hannibal replies. "I can always cancel, or go alone."

Will shakes his head. "I'm not going anywhere without you," he breathes, and smiles when Hannibal immediately, predictably, purrs against his neck. A moment later, he shifts his weight, wincing, and Will gets up to give him room to get more comfortable. "Come on," he says, holding out his hand. "I need to check your bandages."

"I think the stitches can be removed at this point," Hannibal says. It's not a protest. He takes Will's hand and allows Will to pull him to his feet. Will smiles, and presses a gentle, testing hand to Hannibal's flank, where there is a bulge of gauze over the entry and exit wounds. It's been healing nicely – Will is no stranger to stitches and Hannibal had been a patient and thorough teacher, talking him through the hasty surgery.

"Good," Will says with a nod. Their fingers lace as they leave the living room, and go upstairs to the guest bedroom that has become an unofficial triage suite. All their medical equipment is here, from the blood Hannibal stole or harvested for transfusions, tubing and syringes, painkillers and antibiotics. The bed is bare except for a single sheet, dotted with old blood from changing bandages.

Hannibal takes off his shirt, baring his chest, and sits obediently as Will crouches beside him. He lays down on his side, facing Will, and Will peels the bandages back, pleased to find that, while there is still a wide halo of bruising, the wounds themselves are healing nicely, skin knitted together around the stitches. He sighs in relief and stands, fetching small scissors and tiny clamps so that he can cut and pull the threads free.

Hannibal is quiet while Will works, neither wincing nor giving any other sign of pain as Will carefully cuts the stitches free and pulls the pieces of thread out. There are tiny beads of blood, and he wipes them away with an antibacterial wipe, nodding to himself when they clot immediately and don't continue to bleed.

"Looking good," he murmurs with a smile. "But we still have to be careful. I'm not letting you get yourself into trouble and ruining all my hard work."

Hannibal smiles at him, eyes bright. "Yes, Doctor," he teases. Will rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss him.

It is raining as they approach the estate to which Hannibal claims they were invited. Howsham Hall is beautiful. It stands in the middle of a wide green field, a driveway leading up to the building and surrounding it like a moat. It is square, and the tall windows are lined to give the impression of prison bars. Will wonders if Hannibal considers them the same; his prison was far from conventional, after all. Turret-like spikes frame the top border of it, the house jutting in angular shapes at the front entryway and on either side to make it look like the fingers of a closed fist. Behind it sprawls lower, single-story attachments, fit for cars or, Will assumes at one point, stables.

It is a timeless and lovely building, though severe in the darkness of the storm. The occasional flicker of lightning illuminates the gray stone, making it glisten with hidden quartz and shards of glass that make up the outside.

Hannibal and Will drive around to the repurposed garages and park, next to a collection of fancy old cars. They get out and, hurrying to escape the rain, circle to the front and up the small series of steps leading to the front door. It towers well above their heads, an arch of glass above it like the entrance to a church. Above that, an old crest is etched into the sandstone that has been weathered over time to the point of smooth flatness. There are huge pots on either side of the door from which grow healthy green saplings, laden and dripping with rain. On either side of the door are two columns, plain and proper, and they stretch up to the very top of the building.

"This looks like the kind of place I could see you living in," Will says with a smile, as Hannibal takes hold of the heavy iron knocker and raps it twice against the door. Hannibal steps back and smiles at him, linking their arms together. Will instinctively stands on Hannibal's right side, his injured side, to protect his Omega's vulnerabilities. If Hannibal notices, he does nothing but smile.

The door opens, revealing a young woman in a stereotypical maid uniform; a black dress that stops at her knee with a white apron over that, which is utterly spotless. She smiles at them in greeting, and steps back, gesturing for them to come inside.

"Misters David and Leo, I presume," she greets. Will nods, mentally noting the aliases Hannibal chose for them this time. Normally he goes with much fancier and more esoteric names. The plainness of them surprises him.

She takes their coats and hangs them by the door, and clasps her hands together, gesturing that they follow her into the main living room, which sits on the left. There are portraits and sculptures all around the main hall that remind Will of a museum, carefully arranged to draw a visitor inward, to tease at their curiosity and lure them deeper into the labyrinth.

Inside the living room, there is a giant marble fireplace, and a collection of plush leather armchairs and couches. The windows are covered by heavy red velvet curtains, closed to hide those inside from view. There are four inside, three Alphas and a woman, all of them around Hannibal's age except for one of the Alphas, gathered at a small table in the center of the sitting arrangement and nursing drinks.

"Missus Montgomery," the maid says. "Misters David and Leo Vaughan are here."

"Thank you, Olivia, that will be all," the woman says, standing with a smile. She reminds Will of a Hollywood starlet, a Queen of the Silver Screen, wearing a long form-fitting gown that subtly sparkles in the same way her house does, and her neck and wrists dripping with extravagant gold chains and diamonds. Her hair shines with grey she is long past the need of dyeing, tied up in a series of artful curls. She approaches them and Hannibal takes her hand and kisses her knuckles with a small bow. "Leo, a pleasure to see you again. And David! I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine, Missus Montgomery," Will replies, and kisses her hand as Hannibal had done. "Thank you for your gracious invitation."

"I would be a terrible example of our community if I didn't welcome new guests when they arrived," she replies, smiling so widely. She reminds Will, absently, of Bedelia – not for her smile, but her manner of speaking and careful enunciation. "And please, call me Heather. Let me introduce you all."

Will nods. Hannibal had told him that these people still subscribe to the archaic practice of formal introductions. That is, guests are not allowed to converse with just anyone upon their arrival. Strangers, especially Omegas, must be introduced by their Alpha, or by the host – or, in this case, hostess.

Heather leads them over and gestures to each Alpha in turn. First, the oldest one, who sits in a high-backed armchair that casts a severe shadow along the room, since it is turned away from the fire. "My husband, Ethan Montgomery," she says, and the man bows his head. Will and Hannibal respond in kind. "This is our dear friend, Mister Gregory Saunders." The second man she indicates is on one of the couches, nursing a generous glass of brandy. He lifts it in greeting. "And our nephew, Mister Daniel Monroe," Heather finishes, gesturing to the last man.

"My friends," she says, "these are Misters David and Leo Vaughan. They have recently moved into the Vanguard house."

"Oh?" The sound comes from Gregory, who regards Hannibal and Will with an arched silver brow. "I was wondering who had snatched that place up."

"It's quite a lovely estate," Hannibal says. "Cramped, but comfortable."

"A perfect size for a pair, yes," Gregory says. "Much too small for myself, unfortunately. What with Oliver and Marjorie popping out children like a hen lays eggs!" Will doesn't let himself react to that, but he feels Hannibal's arm tense, slightly, within his. He lets out a quiet purr and hopes it settles Hannibal – though he knows Hannibal has never had trouble curbing his tongue in the face of rudeness. Will is much greater a loose cannon, in that regard.

"Do you have children, Mister Vaughan?" Heather asks as she takes her seat beside Gregory on the couch, next to her husband. Will can't help but notice that there is only the second armchair and remaining couch, which is too small to fit both of them. He doesn't like the idea of he and Hannibal not sitting together, and the other man on the second couch, Daniel, doesn't seem aware enough or inclined to move.

Heather's eyes are on Will, and he clears his throat and shakes his head. "No," he replies. He doesn't let himself think of Abigail, or Morgan Verger, or Wally. Those wounds are far too old and feel like they belong to another man.

"Pity," Gregory says, his gaze shifting to Hannibal in an almost accusatory glare. This time, it's Will who tenses.

"Unfortunately," he says curtly, "I'm unable to sire any." He waits a beat for that to sink in, before he smiles, like he didn't notice the unsaid barb aimed at Hannibal. Of course, people like this would blame the Omega for not bearing young. "But I think it worked out for the best; children would not suit us."

Heather smiles, and then her eyes flash to Daniel, and her expression turns into a scowl. "Daniel, you fool, why don't you move! Can't you see you're blocking our guests from sitting next to each other. Have some awareness, man!"

Daniel is by far the youngest of the quartet, even younger than Will. He flushes and jumps to his feet, backing into the second armchair and freeing up the couch for them. Hannibal moves first, smiling cordially at the other man, and takes his seat gracefully. Will gravitates to him, but does not sit; he circles the back of the couch and rests his hand on Hannibal's shoulder. Body language in a group this large speaks volumes.

Will brushes his thumb along Hannibal's jaw, careful not to ruffle his hair or his suit. His eyes gravitate towards the minibar behind Heather and Gregory's heads.

"Would you like a drink, sweetheart?" he asks.

Hannibal tilts his head and gives Will a smile. Will knows what he likes. He takes his leave of the immediate focus of attention – these are Hannibal's friends, after all, and he is much better at easing his way into a conversation. Will's job, his role, his preferred part, is that of listener. Of watcher. He stands back and eyes the field while his birddog charges in to send the pheasants aflutter.

On the little table is a hoard of dark bottles; brandies and wines, as well as a large bottle of whiskey that Will senses costs more than their house. There is one wine in a decanter, black-red in the firelight. He takes it and holds it under his nose, testing it with a quick inhale. Syrupy and sweet, vaguely plum-like. Hannibal will like this one.

He takes two glasses and pours Hannibal a generous amount, his own smaller but enough to nurse for a long while. He returns and gives Hannibal his glass, and takes his seat beside him, one hand resting on his knee. It's a possessive gesture, but he likes the tiny trilling purr Hannibal lets out at the touch, and smiles when Hannibal presses their knees together in answer.

Outside, the storm rages on, rumbling fiercely above their heads. Heather sighs. "I think God is threatening us with a second flood at his rate," she says, sitting back and crossing one leg over the other. "It's a veritable downpour."

"It always rains heavily this time of year," Ethan replies with a smile. He is every inch the aloof persona that Will would expect of a man in such high standing. From what Hannibal has told him, the Montgomery family owns most of the land and houses in this town, and were one of the founding members when it was first established.

"Nevertheless, I'm afraid it's not leaving our guests with a very good impression," Heather replies. "Tell me, David, Leo, what brought you to our humble little haven?"

Hannibal smiles. "David and I have always preferred the country," he says. Will takes a sip of his wine, content to let Hannibal lead the conversation. "As I'm sure you've no doubt guessed by now, David is American, and I suppose I told him far too much about Europe, for he insisted that we move here once I retired."

"Oh?" Gregory is visibly startled by the notion that Hannibal, as the Omega, would be working, much less be the one to determine where they settled after. It's an archaic view, but one that doesn't surprise Will, given what he has already observed and learned. "What did you do for a living?"

"I was a doctor, for a time," Hannibal replies. "Then, a therapist."

Beside Will, Daniel makes a small sound. "What kind of doctor?"

"An E.R. surgeon," Hannibal tells him.

Daniel's eyes are wide. "Wow," he says. Will hopes he is young enough not to buy into the misogynistic view that Omegas are meant to stay at home, keeping the house and bearing children and doing nothing else.

"That's a noble calling," Gregory says mildly. "If…taxing, I'm sure, in more ways than one. It's no wonder you didn't give any thought to children when you were younger. Even adopting, since you can't have them yourself."

Will's upper lip twitches back, and while Hannibal immediately flattens a hand to soothe him, the damage has already been done. "It's a truly sad state of affairs when your happiness lives and dies on the notion of other people having children," he says curtly.

Gregory flushes, mouth parted like a gaping fish. Before he can answer, though, Heather laughs. "Oh, Leo, you weren't lying about David's sharp tongue!" she declares, and swats Gregory on the shoulder. "Perhaps that will teach you to silence your own."

Will takes another drink of wine, pleased to have gotten away with his remarks without incident. Hannibal hasn't partaken of any alcohol, though he is making a show of nursing it below his nose and inhaling the bouquet. The wine is so thick is slides down Will's throat like molasses, and makes his teeth feel numb, his stomach heavy like he has already eaten.

"And you, David?" Ethan asks, breaking the quiet. He is a thin man, positively skeletal, his eyes shining like there is no barrier between his soul and reality. "What noble pursuit did you give up for the sake of leaving your country for love?"

Will hums, smiling. Inwardly, he hesitates. He doesn't know what Hannibal might have told Heather, and doesn't want to catch themselves out in a lie. Hannibal has been curiously reticent about this group of people, only warning Will of the social dynamics to expect, and has said nothing about their personalities or behaviors. Perhaps he wanted to save Will the pleasure of finding out for himself.

"I was a teacher," he says. "College level."

"Oh?" Ethan asks, sitting forward in his chair. For some reason, Will hadn't expected him to be able to move. He has been sitting like a puppet, unable to react or do anything more than smile unless given a tug of his strings. When he sits forward, he reminds Will of an insect, some mantis-like creature eager to examine his mammalian flesh. "What did you teach?"

"Psychology," Will replies without missing a beat. He takes another drink of wine, his throat feeling too thick and warm. Hannibal still hasn't had any of his – that's odd. Will frowns down at his glass, and clears his throat, trying to swallow the odd, heavy wad of phlegm-like saliva sitting right at the back of his throat.

Heather claps her hands together, standing. "I believe dinner should be ready," she says brightly. "Why don't you gentlemen go on ahead. I need to freshen up."

Ethan stands, on his feet like he was being held down by sheer force of will alone. Will's brow creases. The way Ethan is moving isn't sitting right with him. He's like a robot being piloted remotely, a facsimile of a man, a puppet who only recently became real. Ethan walks past them all in a rush of mismatched gaited steps. Gregory stands, after, following him, as does Daniel. Heather goes into another room, away from them.

Hannibal rises, setting his wine on the table, and turns to Will. In the soft light of the fire he looks imposing and strong, all sharp angles and dark shadows. Will swallows and puts his hand in Hannibal's, letting Hannibal pull him to his feet.

His hand holding the wine drops, and he curls his other hand around the nape of Hannibal's neck. "Are you alright, Will?" Hannibal murmurs. His voice sounds like it's coming from far away, and yet right behind Will's eardrum at the same time.

Will swallows. He doesn't want to ruin this for Hannibal – it's his first night being able to really socialize since, well, since before his imprisonment, since Italy, and Will doesn't want to leave him alone, either. He has to protect Hannibal, he's still vulnerable, still wounded, and he doesn't want to be apart from him if he can help it.

So he can't leave. Ethan's weird insectile movements and Gregory's backhanded remarks shouldn't bother him. He's past that. He feels like he should be past that.

He steadies himself and takes another long drink of wine, again remembering that Hannibal didn't drink any. "Do you want something different?" he asks, subtly distressed at the idea of Hannibal rejecting his offering.

Hannibal smiles at him, gently, and cups his face. His thumb on Will's cheek is fever-warm and soft as sin. "You should switch to something you're more familiar with," he murmurs.

Will's brow creases, and Hannibal moves away from him, towards the beverage cart. He looks down at the wine in his glass. It, predictably, does nothing, swirling gently with the motions of his hand.

He blinks, a moment of clarity coming to him. "You think they did something to it?" he asks. He _does_ feel strange, after all, and not the kind of discomfort he gets around new people or when insulted. This feels bone deep, melted into muscle and sinew. Everything in the room has a slightly off-center shadow behind it.

"The exact nature of their enhancements remain a mystery," Hannibal says. "It could as easily be Ambien or LSD as poison."

"That's not reassuring," Will says, and sets his wine down. "Why would your friends want to poison us?"

"I didn't say it was poison, Will, just that it could be, for all my nose was able to tell me." Hannibal's nonchalance _is_ somewhat soothing. If he's not worried and telling Will to purge his stomach or carefully hovering over Will's body and monitoring symptoms, then it can't be that bad. Hannibal turns, holding two glasses of the same brandy Gregory was drinking. So that's probably safe.

Will smiles. His mate is so smart. So calm. Will takes the offered glass and gently butts his head against Hannibal's cheek, kissing his shoulder.

Hannibal lets out a quiet, if pleased, hum of amusement. "Is this a symptom of an altered state?" he teases.

Will shrugs. "If this is the worst of it, I won't even be mad."

He feels Hannibal smile, and closes his eyes as Hannibal's fingers gently curl in his hair, cradling the base of his skull. He rubs their cheeks together and purrs to Will; a soothing sound that convinces Will it's okay to let his mate go, to stand on his own.

"If that is the worst of it," Hannibal replies, his eyes dark, "I shall have to ask our hosts what they used."

Will laughs. "I'm affectionate all the time," he says.

"Yes," Hannibal concedes, nodding. "But rarely so…aggressively. Shamelessly."

Will's smile widens, grows sharp at the corners. He cups Hannibal's chin and pulls him in for a kiss, the brandy glass in Hannibal's hand caught between their stomachs. Nothing sloshes out, but it's a close thing.

"Would you like that to change?" Will murmurs.

Hannibal's eyes are gentle and affectionate in a way his smile is not. His smile is like Will's – sharp-angled and showing too many teeth. He pets Will's hair and kisses him, chaste, far too chaste for Will's liking, before he pulls away. "Later," he promises.

He makes his way out of the room, and Will follows like a dog on a leash. Whatever they gave him, he knows it's not conjuring feelings in him that weren't there, of course not – but Hannibal is right. Will would never be so brazen under normal circumstances, especially when he knew they weren't alone. But the drug, whatever it is, makes him feel happy and calm. He wonders if Heather has been drinking it too and that's why she's so mellow. Maybe they give it to their friends to make sure everyone has a good time, to encourage them to come back.

Like Hannibal does, with food. A night spent high and happy would be talk of the town and a repeated invitation would be eagerly accepted. Will smiles to himself. Maybe Hannibal isn't the only one desperate to make friends.

He trails behind his mate's shadow, Hannibal following his noise and the soft noises of conversation that float to them from one of the inner rooms. Will lingers, when a particular piece of art catches his eye. There is a vase depicting Theseus grappling with the minotaur. A replica, no doubt, though he wouldn't put it past someone in a place like this to bargain for the real thing. Above that, a Rembrandt etching of the Raising of Lazarus.

He hums, pressing his lips together. The frame of gold on the etching glows dully through his hazy vision. He thinks he can see Lazarus' hands tighten around his grave, see Jesus beckoning him closer in answer. When he lowers his eyes, Theseus and the minotaur move as though locked in a live battle. He can hear their grunts. Smell their blood.

"Darling?"

He jumps at the hand on his shoulder, and turns his head, breathing out harshly. "Sensory hallucinations," he whispers.

Hannibal presses his lips together, and gently rubs his hand up Will's nape. "Which senses?"

"At this point, all of them," Will replies.

"It works quickly."

"And powerfully."

"Would you like to leave?"

Will considers the question. If Heather or any of the guests knew what was in the wine, this could be something to laugh about later. A foreign American Alpha that can't hold his liquor and mind-altering chemicals. In this state, he wouldn't be able to drive home on his own, and he doesn't want to leave Hannibal here alone either.

It's not affecting any of his faculties, that he can tell. His limbs hold a loose warmth, he's moving with an ease he hasn't really had since before the fall. His head is fuzzy and his teeth feel numb but those are negligible things, no more foreign to him than being drunk.

As long as the hallucinations don't get worse, he doesn't see a reason he cannot continue with the evening. He shakes his head and gives Hannibal a small, but genuine smile. He turns and nuzzles him, their noses brushing. Will's teeth catch Hannibal's upper lip and tug until Hannibal growls.

"Let's stay," he whispers. "I'm curious."

Hannibal's eyes, dark and gentle, shine with affection. He cups Will's face and kisses him deeply, until a loud clearing of the throat calls their attention away.

Heather is there, on the other side of the entrance hall. She regards them with a wide smile. "Don't let me interrupt," she says, though she did exactly that. Will isn't embarrassed – he sees the flush on Hannibal's face, the subtle threads of gold in his iris, and is proud to have affected his mate so. Heather gestures towards the dining room. "Shall we?"

Hannibal nods, and takes Will's hand, and they go into the dining room, which is just as lavish as Will became used to back in Hannibal's home. The table itself is dauntingly large and takes up most of the space, a wood so dark it's almost black in the low light. There is more art on the walls that he goes out of his way to ignore, lest another hallucination distract him. There are candles on the table providing the only light, and chairs that look far too large to be used for normal seating arrangements.

Ethan is at the head of the table, Heather taking the empty space to his right. On his left is Gregory, out of deference to his age. Next to Gregory, Daniel. Hannibal takes the seat beside Heather, leaving Will to take the second head of the table. The chairs are spaced apart too far for him to touch, even when he stretches his leg out, seeking Hannibal's below the table. He tries not to let that bother him.

From a door behind Heather emerges two more wait staff, as well as Olivia. They come bearing two bowls of soup each on plates. Hannibal and Heather, as the Omega and female, are served first. Then Ethan and Gregory, in deference to their age. Finally, Will and Daniel. The soup is a dark brown and smells of beef and barley, rich with celery slices, carrots, all in a thick broth. The utensils have already been set out and Will is glad he learned how to use them all properly when he was young, that knowledge reaffirmed with Hannibal playing host to him so often.

The wait staff leave through the same door, and Ethan stands, raising his glass. "To new friends," he says, and they all raise their glasses in answer. "I hope this is the beginning of a long and happy relationship between our families and peers."

"Well said," Hannibal purrs, once Ethan sits again. Alpha eats first, it's another tradition held up among the traditional and archaic. As head of this pack, it's Ethan's duty to take the first bite of food. Will waits patiently, swirling the brandy around in his glass, his eyes on the other Alpha at the far end of the table.

Ethan is watching him, with beady eyes and hunched shoulders. He makes no move to take up his spoon and begin eating. Neither do any of the others. The silence drags on, and Will takes a drink of brandy, never taking his eyes off the other Alpha.

Finally, Ethan smiles, and takes his first bite. Will can feel Hannibal's proud, amused energy like a hand on his neck.

The soup is warm and salty and delicious. Certainly not Hannibal's cooking, but Will has had worse. He eats slowly, aware that there is now a slight tremor in his hand, a weakness in his grip. He's sure it's another affect of the drug, and bristles at the idea that he will be weakened, and pliant. He can't imagine what might have happened if they had managed to drug both him and Hannibal. Any threat to his mate, intentional or otherwise, would not be received well.

They eat in silence, and it's not exactly comfortable. It's charged, and makes Will feel like a static-covered cat. He can't touch Hannibal, and though he can meet his eyes, he's too aware of his own altered state of mind.

He presses his lips together, and draws himself inward, to their mind palace. He calls for his mate in the empty rooms, seeking him out with growing franticness. It is only when he finds Hannibal, in a room much like his old study, calmly reading a book to entertain himself during their silent dinner, that he feels himself relax.

"I'm growing weak," he tells Hannibal by way of greeting. He approaches when Hannibal looks up, and sets his book down, and reaches for him. Their hands touch, and then their foreheads, Will suddenly too weak to stand.

Hannibal embraces him and pulls him into his lap, purring in a gentle, soothing way. "Your mind is still sharp," he assures Will.

"Not sharp enough," Will snaps. "I couldn't find you for ages."

Hannibal pets his back, up into his hair. Will feels it, in their shared mind palace and in real life, and he shivers, lashes going low. "We can still leave," Hannibal suggests. "There isn't anything in the soup. I am still fully aware and functional."

"I don't like this," Will breathes. He turns his head and kisses Hannibal's smooth cheek. "I don't like this, Hannibal. This is wrong and I -."

In reality, or whatever alternate reality Will is perceiving, the shadows in the room grow horns and leer at him.

"I'm hallucinating again."

"If it's any consolation, you are behaving perfectly normally to them," Hannibal says, smiling. "Your control and decorum are admirable. A wonder to behold."

"You like seeing me lose control," Will breathes, gasping as Hannibal nuzzles his bared throat, teeth grazing his pulse. He curls his fingers in Hannibal's hair and wishes he could do the same in real life. "But you're not the agent of it, this time."

"Au contraire," Hannibal teases. "You're staying because you want to protect me, and make me happy." Will can't deny it. He's long past the point of denying that half of what he does is to satisfy his mate. It's Alpha instinct, and it's powerful – he would light the world on fire and drown it in the ocean to see Hannibal smile.

"I like making you happy," he admits, though he's sure it doesn't need to be said.

Hannibal's purr is loud, vibrating against Will's chest. "You do, my love," he says gently. "Every moment."

Will smiles, and then jerks in Hannibal's arms as, in reality, the spoon falls from his fingers and clatters into the bowl. Will stiffens, as the sound seems to ricochet, echoing over and over in the silent room and inside his own skull.

Hannibal sets his own spoon down, and straightens with an amiable smile. "I think we should call it a night," he says cordially. "David and I are still not quite over the jetlag. I do apologize." He stands, and Will reaches for him blindly. The tremors have moved up to his shoulders now and even when he touches Hannibal's arm, he barely feels it.

Hannibal helps him to his feet. "Have a good night," he says.

"Mister Vaughan, wait," Ethan says, and stands as well. Will blinks at him, brow creasing as, from the same door, the three wait staff emerge again. This time they are carrying a large tray between them, a box-like object sitting on it beneath a thin veil. From beneath the veil pulses a warm, welcoming red light.

They set the tray on the table and Ethan smiles, unveiling the piece. It's a lantern, one of those old-looking ones from a bygone era. Like the one hanging from Charon's boat on the River Styx. "Do you know what this is?"

"It's a lantern," Will says. He doesn't like how slurred his voice is, how much he's leaning on Hannibal to support his weight. What the _fuck_ did they put in the wine?

"Oh, it's not just a lantern," Ethan says. He grins at them with manic glee. "Many years ago, this town was founded by one of my ancestors, Deliverance Montgomery." Will arches a brow. "I know, quite a name. Deliverance established this town with the knowledge that it was only to be haven for the strongest and most worthy among us. We have kept his traditions for years now, and I'm afraid I cannot in good conscience allow them to be broken."

Hannibal's hand tightens on Will, even as he pushes himself upright.

"Every newcomer to our town is invited to this estate for…let's call it a trial," Ethan continues. "Deliverance calls for us to be at one with our most intimate natures. Survival of the fittest, as they say."

"I don't like this," Will whispers to Hannibal in their mind palace.

"Neither do I," Hannibal replies.

"The trial is simple," Ethan says. Heather stands, and circles the table to stand by his side. So do Gregory and Daniel, and the wait staff flank them like an army readying themselves for war. "You must, simply, survive the night."

From his pocket, he pulls out a small remote. He pushes a button on it, and Will's eyes widen as he hears a series of loud, metallic booms echo throughout the house, as every exterior window and door are shuttered with heavy locking panes of steel, so that they cannot escape.

"Deliverance is not without his kindnesses," Ethan says. The lantern pulses, flaring strongly with bright red light, and Will's eyes widen as a small, almost imperceptible trail of smoke rises from the top of it. For a moment, it forms the face of a gaunt, dead-eyed man, who is smiling so, so widely.

"Is this another hallucination?" he whispers. He's not sure if he says it out loud.

Hannibal answers anyway; "No."

"You will be allowed a ten minute head start," Ethan tells them. "I'd make the most of it, if I were you."

Will can't help it; he laughs. "Are you fucking serious?" he demands, a snarl lodged in his throat. Do they have _any_ idea who he and Hannibal are?

No, of course they don't.

"Deadly," Heather says, with a kind smile. "I do hope you survive. Best of luck to you, gentlemen."

Will opens his mouth to respond, but Hannibal tugs on him, pulling him towards the door. "Come," he orders, and Will doesn't have the strength to fight him. Still, he snarls, glaring at the group of people as Hannibal herds him out the door.

He hears Gregory laugh; "I knew that Alpha was spineless. Honestly, Heather, what were you thinking?"

"I like Leo well enough," she replies, and then Hannibal closes the door behind them.

Will pushes him off, and then instantly regrets it as he stumbles to his knees, catching himself on that pedestal holding the stupid fucking vase. "Why did you pull me away?" he demands, glaring at Hannibal's shoes. "We can take them."

"Not as you are, darling; I won't risk you," Hannibal tells him, helping him to his feet again. "Come; we would do well to find weapons and a place with few opportunities for ingress. We can fight them there."

It's a logical suggestion, but Will doesn't want logic. They drugged him and tried to drug his mate too, to make them weak and pliant and for what? A stupid _game_ where they trap people and hunt them for sport? Where is the nuance, the flair, the skill in that? Weak, stupid hunters, they aren't fit to be used as a toothpick for a real meal.

Will snarls.

"Darling," Hannibal says again, and tugs on his hand. "Come with me."

His Omega is calling for him, and Will runs, helplessly, to answer.

Hannibal pulls him towards the stairs, and Will would normally tell him that's a foolish place to run, but it's not like there are many other options. There are too many halls and rooms in this Godforsaken house, but the upper levels are normally much more uniform and easy to navigate. He tries to make his steps light, but his feet drag and they're making too much noise.

He collapses to his knees again at the top of the stairs, and shakes his head. "You need to go," he says, pawing at Hannibal's thigh. "Go and hide. I'll find a weapon and put my back to a wall."

"They may have guns," Hannibal tells him.

"Hannibal, I can't fucking walk."

"You have done much more in far worse condition," Hannibal says. Like Will needs reminding. It was him, after all, who hauled their bodies through the salt spray and riotous ocean onto the boat, manned by Chiyoh, a half-mile into the Atlantic. He was the one so high on adrenaline and relief that they had survived, who had stayed by Hannibal's bedside while Chiyoh tended to their wounds until he was capable of doing it himself. He's the one who has managed to catch killers with his brain was on fire with disease. He is the one who caught the Ripper.

He is Alpha. He is meant to be strong, to be absolute. Though Hannibal's tone is calm, his scent holds a sour note of distress that stings Will's nose, compels him to reach and rumble and soothe. He needs to be strong for Hannibal, to at least be in control of himself so that Hannibal can take care of the rest.

His vision is blurring and grey at the edges and the hallway is spinning, and there are ghosts and demons where there should only be shadows. The walls, red as old blood in too-bright light, seem to peel and melt in front of his very eyes. The portraits are lined with faces that jeer and smirk at him.

He holds his head in his hands and tries to stand. It's more of a struggle than he would care to admit.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry, Hannibal, I can't. The whole -. I feel like my reality is fading away." He laughs, and it's bitter. "This is one Hell of a drug, whatever the fuck they put in the wine."

It's a good thing Hannibal didn't drink it. He didn't stop Will from drinking it, but that's beside the point. It's not Hannibal's fault that Will is too nose blind for his own good. It's not his fault that forbidding Will drink his chosen beverage would have caused a scene.

Hannibal kneels in front of him and cups his face. Even with the bleeding walls and the carpet that seems to twist and writhe in on itself, Hannibal is solid. He's wholly and unapologetically _real_ and Will clings to that like a life raft.

" _Stand_ ," Hannibal whispers. He's a universal receiver, and has taken Will's blood, so even though there are no mating bites on their necks, and Will has no reciprocal Alpha Voice, Hannibal has a Voice of his own. One that Omegas and Alphas who are bonded can use to compel and force obedience. For Alphas, it's used to dominate and control. Omegas use it to coax and manipulate.

Will tries. He really fucking tries. His hand finds the wall and it feels slick to the touch. He grimaces and pulls his hand back, staring at the smear of red along his palm and fingers.

"I don't know what's real," he whispers.

"I know, darling," Hannibal replies. "But this is not the first time I have had you in an altered state. I'm real. Trust that I'm real."

Will does. He doesn't have a choice in the matter, but even if he did, he would trust Hannibal. Hannibal wraps one of Will's arms across his shoulders, keeping him upright, and they journey down the hall as quietly and quickly as they are able. Will isn't capable of doing either particularly well, but Hannibal is swift and light-footed, and compensates for Will's clumsiness like they are dancers at different skill levels. Will just has to follow Hannibal's lead, and he's had plenty of practice at that.

Hannibal tests a door, and the handles are like snakes and Will reaches out and wraps his fingers around Hannibal's wrist. "Don't touch the -."

"It's not real, Will."

But Will is Alpha and he will die to protect his mate. The handle is a cobra, reared up and hissing at him. He will gladly take the bite so Hannibal doesn't have to. He tugs at the neck of the animal and the door swings open, dripping a trail of blood along the floor in a graceful arc. The room they enter is barren and black, abyssal, and Will wonders how they don't fall straight to Hell as they step over the threshold.

Hannibal leads him through the room, and from the darkness emerges a bed, which he sets Will down on. Will collapses like a destringed puppet, and watches Hannibal search the room for anything they can use as a weapon.

"I want to kill them," he whispers. Needlessly, he's sure, and he's not even certain if he says it aloud. But he's still able to reach their mind palace, for now, and Hannibal smiles at him even with his back turned to Will. "I'll -. I'll rip their throats out. I swear to God."

"I will happily bear witness."

Will's brow creases. "You don't want to kill them?"

"Of course I do," Hannibal replies. He turns and meets Will's hazy gaze. "I am equally able to be offended by a threat to your safety, as you are when I am threatened."

Will's lips twitch in a smile.

"You're protective of me," he murmurs.

"Was there any doubt?"

"Doubt? No." Will shakes his head and shrugs with his entire body. He feels like he could sink into this bed, like the sheets are made of clouds. They are cool to the touch and velveteen, and he wants to burrow into it and pull his mate in with him. He could make Hannibal a nest. Hannibal deserves a nest, and nests are safe. The others can't find them if he makes a nest.

"Will." Will blinks, slowly, and tries to focus. "Stay with me, darling, please."

"I'm not going anywhere," Will breathes. There's a creature like a cat in the corner of the room, tail flicking, blinking at them with golden eyes. He narrows his own eyes at it, upper lip twitching back in a threatening snarl.

Behind the cat, a shadow moves. There's a man in the room. Will becomes aware of him a second before he actually sees him. He snarls, stumbling to his feet, and lunges. His teeth, still numb from the effects of whatever was in the wine, meet soft flesh and bite down. Regardless of the weakness in the rest of his body, his jaw is strong. He tastes blood in his mouth and feels heat beneath his hands and snarls savagely, yanking back with a mouthful of flesh.

He falls with the body, his hand finds a jaw and a shoulder and shoves them apart until he hears something snap. He leans in and bites down again, until his fangs touch bone, and he cuts his tongue on tendon. He hears, as though from far away, a gurgling, rattling exhale.

The lights come on as Hannibal finds them, and Will blinks, blinks again. Beneath him is Daniel's body, pale and wide-eyed, staring at him, mouth open in a silent scream.

Will scrambles back, his shoulder hitting the bedpost, which he can now see is thick and square and made of mahogany. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and gasps.

Hannibal hums, behind him, and Will's eyes rise to the tiny crack in the bookcase on the wall. There's a small slip of darkness beyond it – a hidden door, leading to passages in the walls.

"Well," Hannibal says mildly. "That's good to know."

Will swallows. There's blood in his mouth and his teeth feel too sharp. "That could have been you," he whispers. Daniel is – was – holding a knife. It's still in his limp grip and Will takes it before rigor can set in. His hands are shaking, but maybe that's adrenaline now. Adrenaline is good; an increased heart rate and fight instinct will purge the drug from his system faster.

This is all registered absently.

"What if that had been you?" he asks, looking up at Hannibal. "I didn't know what I was seeing. I could have -."

He could have attacked his mate. He could have ripped Hannibal's fucking throat out and not known until it was too late.

Hannibal's fingers touch his cheek, his bloody muzzle, and curl beneath his jaw, making Will lift his face up. The light helps him focus, Hannibal is no longer a shape of black amidst darker black. He looks so…regal, like this, towering above Will, unshaken and unmoving while Will is like a little boat on a wind-tossed ocean.

"You can't harm me, Will," he says, and whether he means because Will is weak and shaken and can barely see or move, or he's speaking on a grander scale where vengeance and anger were washed away in the ocean, Will doesn't know. But he trusts those words. Hannibal won't let Will hurt him, not without one Hell of a fight.

He swallows and nods and shoves his cheek against Hannibal's palm. His eyes open and focus on Daniel's body. The young Alpha's head is awash in a halo of blood, his eyes staring at Will in accusation. What did he expect, Will wants to say.

"Poor bastards have no idea what they got themselves into," he murmurs.

Hannibal laughs, and crouches beside him. He nuzzles Will's bloody hair and kisses tenderly at the straining tendon in his neck. "I have eagerly anticipated the day when I would see you, bloodied and triumphant, once again," he sighs. Will shivers as Hannibal's warm lips touch his pulse. Hannibal cups his bloody hand and cradles it, lacing their fingers together. Will's brow creases, and he wants to warn about contamination and bloodborne pathogens but he can't find it in himself to say anything. Hannibal is warm and solid.

Will closes his eyes and grits his teeth. "One down," he says.

"Mm." Hannibal stands, the moment passed, as he goes back to searching for a weapon. "I am not sure the wait staff are loyal enough to kill us outright, especially if they find what became of poor Daniel, but I'm not prepared to write them off as a threat yet."

"So six," Will rasps. "Six against two." He laughs. "One and a half."

"You're the one who killed him, darling, not I."

Will tilts his head back, even though it makes him feel like he's falling backwards. His shoulders hit the side of the bed and he sags, breathing hard. His eyes lift to the gap in the wall and he swallows. "They could be in the walls," he says.

"They do seem to have the home advantage," Hannibal concedes from somewhere behind him. Will closes his eyes. He finds Hannibal in their mind palace and even in there, everything is hazy. His heart feels like it has kept racing, though he knows that's not probable. It's beating so fast and heavy in his head like a war drum.

"Hannibal," he whispers, searching for his mate. But he can't see him, can't hear him. His brow creases, and he opens his eyes to blackness, and then opens them again to blackness, like waking up into a second dream. He sucks in a breath and tries to push himself to his feet, but his hands slip on his own sweat and he collapses on his knees and elbows. "Hannibal!"

This feels like the catacombs, all those years ago. He is searching in the dark, trying to find a formless shadow through scent alone, aching, aching with something too desperate to be called love and too barbed to be hate. His nails scrape against wooden floor and he doesn't know which reality he's in anymore.

"Hannibal -."

A hand clamps over his mouth, and he snarls, struggling against it, until he realizes that scent – that is familiar. He breathes in raggedly and groans, forcing his eyes open again and again and again until they finally show him Hannibal's face.

He hasn't felt this out of control of his own body since he was sick. Not being able to trust what he sees and feels isn't a scar too old to pick at. It's fresh and terrifying with words like _remission_ and _relapse_ in his head all the time.

"Will." Hannibal's hands are gentle and cool. His mouth, soft and tasting of brandy and salt. They don't have time for Will to be losing his mind and for Hannibal to keep physically soothing and kissing him, but Will can't let him go.

Will rests their foreheads together, and gives a small nod. He refuses to close his eyes as Hannibal touches his scarred cheek and scruffy jaw. He clears his throat and frowns when Hannibal presses his fingers to Will's lips again.

Their eyes meet. Hannibal tilts his head to one side, gaze lifting, and Will follows him up. The silence stretches and Will exhales through his nose, quietly, when he hears what Hannibal must have heard – there are footsteps, soft and measured, coming from what sounds like the direction of the stairs. Their head start is over; the hunt has begun.

"They'll smell the blood," Will whispers to Hannibal in the darkness sitting at the back of his skull. That is where the monster with horns and golden eyes sits, the one that looks so much like his mate, that never truly left him.

Hannibal smiles and, wordlessly, says; "Yes, they will."

"Leave me here and hide," Will orders.

"I will do no such thing." Hannibal's fingers move from his lips and curl beneath Will's arm, hoisting him up. Hannibal has found something long and angular – a hair pin, Will realizes. There's a candlestick next to a mirror on a vanity and Will grabs it, yanking the shaft of the candle out so he has something capable of bludgeoning, as well as his knife.

Hannibal's eyes shine with amusement. "Can you walk?" he asks, testing Will's strength by loosening his own grip.

Will sucks in a breath. "Body high's fading," he replies, which isn't a lie. He can feel strength returning to his limbs, knuckle by knuckle, piece by piece, like a collection of fabrics that were in a deep freeze and are slowly being thawed one by one. He's able to remain upright, but his vision is still so very blurry. He can't focus and he's not sure which pieces of what he's seeing are real. Are there really animals carved into the bedframe, chasing each other, the predators slaughtering the prey? Do the shadows truly dance so energetically?

He presses his lips together. "I'm just going to do exactly what you tell me and not worry about anything else."

Hannibal's eyes flash, and he nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You would be very popular with an opening line like that."

Will snorts, the sound far too loud. Hannibal gives him a warning look and cups the back of Will's neck, drawing him close as they edge their way along the wall, towards the crack in the bookshelves. Will cocks his head to one side even though he knows he's not the one with the reliable sense of hearing right now.

Still, he can hear footsteps. It doesn't sound like they're coming from the inner passageways, though. They sound like they're coming from the hallway.

Will reaches out and carefully curls his fingers around the shelf, pulling the bookshelf back into place with a soft grunt. He prowls forward as he hears the footsteps get closer, and then takes Hannibal by the shoulder and shoves him in front of Will, so that he is on the other side of the door. So that, if the door opens, he will be hidden from view.

Hannibal's eyes narrow at him, lips pursing in displeasure. Will is weaker, after all, right now, and he can't trust the things he hears or sees. But he knows Hannibal, and he knows Hannibal will understand this tactic.

"They can't have gone far," a voice says. Will holds his breath so that he can't be heard, lowering himself to the ground so that he's not immediately in the natural line of sight. The shadows of the bed help to hide him, and Daniel behind him. The air stinks of blood – any Alpha will be able to smell it, and there are two hunting them down.

"Do you smell that?" Will tenses at the sound of the second voice. It knows it to be Ethan; the sound of the older Alpha's voice makes a shiver run down his spine like the skitter of insects. He curls his fingers, ready to lunge. The adrenaline from killing Daniel has steadied his body, he feels like he could keep fighting if he had to.

He watches, eyes narrowed, as the handle to the door turns, rotating down. He waits in the darkness as the door opens.

He sees the barrel of a shotgun, first, and then Ethan's face. He lunges, snarling, and slams into the body of the other Alpha hard enough that they collide with the door and send it flying open with a bang. Ethan shouts in alarm and the gun goes off, close enough to Will's head that his ears ring.

He bites down on the nearest patch of skin he can reach, locks his jaws and holds still like a fighting dog as Ethan struggles beneath him, both of them a writhing mess of limbs on the floor. He manages to get a hold of Ethan's gun as another shot goes off, and grunts as the barrel burns his hands, but he doesn't let go.

He hears Gregory, and is aware of movement, and tears out whatever flesh he has between his teeth. It's from Ethan's shoulder, so it's not life-threatening, but Ethan is old and Will has an advantage in pure body weight alone, despite the long recovery after the fall meaning he and Hannibal have both lost a substantial amount of muscle mass.

A sharp, sudden pain pierces his back and Will howls, gasping, spitting blood from his teeth. He paws at his shoulder but can't reach the knife embedded in his back. It didn't go between his ribs, thank God, so his lungs aren't compromised, but the pain is hot and sudden and winds him nonetheless.

"Fucking kill him, Gregory!" Ethan howls.

The knife retreats and Will feels the cut of it against his throat. He whirls around and snaps his teeth together, earning a cut on his neck that is not as deep as it would have been had he stayed still. A hand wraps through his hair and throws him off Ethan's body and Will lands on his back, winded again and trembling.

A loud, pained cry draws his attention, and he looks up, to see Hannibal has attacked Gregory while he was distracted with Will. His aim is true, his blows self-assured. He's no stranger to killing, after all; neither of them are.

He watches as Hannibal pierces Gregory over and over again. First, a pin in each eye, blinding him. Gregory yells and sweeps out with his knife, catching Hannibal along the chest. The scent of Hannibal's blood makes Will snarl, and he rolls to his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath.

Hannibal's final blow shoves the pin through Gregory's neck, expertly piercing his carotid artery. The fountain of blood it releases stains Hannibal from head to toe in red, and Gregory drops to the floor. Will takes his knife and holds it in a shaky hand, pushing himself to his feet.

Ethan scrambles back, out into the hallway, and Will and Hannibal advance on him as one. He holds his gun out in shaking hands, sweaty and pale with blood loss.

Will smiles as his eyes dart between them, the muzzle of his gun wavering. "Go on," he purrs. "You'll only get one of us before you die. Choose wisely."

Ethan swallows, and aims for Hannibal. Wrong fucking choice – Will has no issue throwing himself on a gun to protect his mate. He lunges and lands heavy on Ethan, sending the gun to one side as it goes off, and the bullet grazes his flank, so close to point blank and so hot Will thinks it might instantly cauterize the wound.

He bites one side of Ethan's neck and shoves his knife into the man's throat, right through the soft part of his jaw and up. He might sever the root of his tongue, but he doesn't care how this man dies, just that he does die.

Ethan gurgles beneath him, choking on his own blood. His hands go limp around the gun, and drop it, and Will snarls and bites again, until he feels the handle of the knife against his own jaw. Blood flows hot and thick down his throat, stains his chest and lap, slicks over his hands. He pulls the knife out so that he can bite deeper, fangs finding delicate cartilage of Ethan's trachea and ripping clean through it.

He shoves the knife below Ethan's ribs, angled up to his heart, for good measure, and purrs when the man dies.

"Darling," Hannibal breathes, and touches Will's injured flank. Will snarls at him, snapping his teeth together, but subsides when he meets Hannibal's eyes. Hannibal is smiling, irises bright with gold. He looks beautiful like that, painted red like some kind of bestial war god, and Will grabs him and growls.

It's a natural instinct, for an Alpha, to immediately want to follow a kill with fucking. It's the victor high – he decimated a rival that threatened his mate, and Hannibal's kill has soaked his clothes, and Will can't remember wanting him this badly his entire life.

"Will," Hannibal says, carefully coaxing Will to his feet. Will lunges for him, slamming him against the wall hard enough one of the portraits is knocked from its mooring and swings wildly at an angle, away from them, before crashing to the floor. He flinches and snarls at the sound, on edge and ready to attack any perceived threat.

Hannibal's fingers curl through his sweaty, bloody hair, and pull his attention back. "Will," he murmurs again.

Will breathes out, blinking rapidly. The blood on Hannibal's body looks like it's melting together and moving, like snakeskin. He wants to shed it, wants to bare his mate's flesh and take what is his by right to claim. Hannibal's throat is too neat, unmarred by bites and bruises. He sucks at the corner of Hannibal's jaw and grinds hard against him, pawing roughly at his clothes.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes. Hannibal rumbles against him in answer, carefully touching his back, his hips, wary of aggravating the wounds Will has sustained. "I -. _Fuck_."

"There is still Heather," Hannibal reminds him. "And the staff. Will, darling, we can't do this now."

No, no, never now. _Later_ , always later. Will's own stupid fucking fault. He bares his teeth and growls against Hannibal's throat.

"I want you," he says, though he's sure it's obvious. He's hard and his stomach, his chest, feel too full. He needs to tear into something and flood it. He's Alpha, he is all, and Hannibal is here, his beautiful deadly mate, Will needs to pierce him and fill him and claim him over the carcasses.

Hannibal's purr is loud, his smile wide. "Soon, my love," he promises. "Soon, Will. When it's safe."

Safe. Yes. It's not safe yet. Will needs to make sure his mate is safe, needs to get rid of all the rivals before Hannibal will accept his superior seed. Will shudders, in so much pain he can barely see, but he has to be strong. His Omega will only accept the strongest Alpha to sire his line.

He knows, in the back of his head, that these thoughts are primal and base and there's no need for them. Hannibal loves him, that much has already been said, that pact sealed long ago with blood and violence. But it's hard, with his mind so aflame, to remember that in the heat of the moment.

Hannibal must realize it too, because he wraps his hand around the front of Will's throat and pushes him back, to get some distance between them. Will growls at the touch against his cut neck, and tries to press forward again. If Omega wants to test him, to choke him, it's up to Will to prove that he's worthy and can fight past any resistance to mount him.

" _Will_." Hannibal's Voice, powerful and absolute, stalls him in place. Will might get one soon, too, after all this bloodshed. He trembles at the thought and rasps out an unsteady breath.

"Fuck," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I just -."

"I know, darling." Hannibal's eyes are gentle, though they burn with promising heat, like embers waiting to be given new air. He pushes himself from the wall, still keeping Will at arm's length, and gently touches his scarred cheek. "You may claim your prize soon. But not yet."

Will nods. Omega demands blood. It's Alpha's job to provide it.

He wraps his fingers around Hannibal's wrist, finds his pulse steady and strong. He smiles, and nods again, coaxing Hannibal's grip free. He can control himself, if that's what his mate wants. He presses his nose to Hannibal's pulse and breathes in raggedly, wanting to center himself.

He blinks, and tightens his grip, shivers again. "I think it's fading," he whispers.

"Good," Hannibal replies. "Are you still hallucinating?"

"I think it's more wishful thinking," Will says with a rueful smile. "Like…. Like back in the old days. It's oddly comforting."

He meets Hannibal's eyes. "Like I'm getting to rediscover you all over again."

Hannibal smiles, lashes going low. "Then I am honored to witness it," he says, and touches his thumb gently to Will's bloody muzzle. "Come, let's finish this, and renew our vows."

Will shivers, a powerful pulse of desire branded on his stomach, where Hannibal's smile is. On his cheek, where a blade pierced. His forehead, from the saw. The wound in his back and the bullet graze on his flank feel like nothing compared to the memory of those scars.

The lioness did not lead the hunt this time. Will knows Heather is still in the dining room. He doesn't see any evidence of the wait staff, but refuses to think that they are in hiding or won't be a threat. He has Ethan's gun, now, Hannibal armed with Gregory's knife since Daniel's was lost in the scuffle, as they prowl carefully back down the stairs and head to the room where this whole affair started.

Heather is there, her eyes on the lantern. She looks up when Hannibal and Will emerge, her cheeks colored with outrage, ire burning in her icy eyes. She stands, and hisses at them; "You are _monsters_."

Will arches a brow, grinning widely. "Of course we are," he says. Hannibal moves from him, flanking one side of the table, Will the other, closing in on Heather like wolves might corner their prey. He doesn't see any weapons on Heather but doesn't think her foolish enough not to have one.

"I admire your flair," Hannibal tells her with a kind smile that shows too many teeth. "I've been told I'm rather dramatic myself, and I can certainly appreciate tradition." Will rolls his eyes. "I wonder what might happen, if your Founder saw how easily we destroyed your kinsmen. You must be growing lax, complacent. When was the last time you had newcomers to this lovely haven?"

Heather lifts her chin, her eyes widening as they move closer. She takes a step back and holds her hands up in surrender. "I'm sure we can arrange something," she says with a nervous smile. "You have clearly proven yourselves capable, and like us. There's no reason we can't simply ignore each other until dawn, and continue as friends."

Will scoffs. The red lantern pulses with a similarly offended light, from the center of the table. "That's the problem, Missus Montgomery," he purrs. He's at the corner of the table, now, Hannibal at the other corner. There's nowhere for her to run. "We're very particular about our choice in friends. I'm sure you understand."

He hefts the gun, and pulls back on the slide, the discarded shell casing popping free and another round loaded into the barrel. He aims it for her chest.

"My mate doesn't prefer guns," he says amiably, "but I think in this case we can make an exception."

Heather's eyes widen.

The door behind Hannibal opens.

Will stiffens, and snarls. "Hannibal -!" The three staff members pour out of the other room all at once, armed and ready. Hannibal is too close to deflect them and the first one, a hulking beast of a man that reminds Will of Cordell, lunges for him as he turns, knocking him back onto the table. Will drops the gun and rushes to his mate, stopping the second woman from stabbing him through the chest. The man, an Alpha, is relying purely on physical strength to keep Hannibal down, and Will realizes with horror that it's working.

The Alpha punches Hannibal on the side, too close to his gunshot wound, and Hannibal lets out a rough, wounded noise, snarling as he kicks and bares his teeth, fighting back. Will leaps onto the man's back and claws at his neck, making him howl and stagger away.

"Will!"

"Don't let her get away," Will demands. He can't see what Hannibal does, but there's new blood in the air. He grabs the other Alpha's neck and twists as savagely as he can, until he hears a telltale _pop_ and the man collapses beneath him. Will sucks in a breath but doesn't rise in time to stop Olivia leaping onto him, sending them both toppling to the floor.

He rolls her and puts both hands around her neck, gritting his teeth as she gasps and slices at him with her knife. He hauls her up and shakes her, trying to get her to let go of the blade, and earns a stab into his side, right over the bullet wound, for his trouble.

He has to let her go, scrambling back. She rises and he pushes himself to his feet, finding Hannibal locked in a fight with the other woman. He seems to be handling it on his own, so while it goes against everything in Will that compels him to protect his mate, he focuses on Olivia instead as she advances on him.

She has a long iron poker, clutching it tightly in both hands. She stinks of fear, and it makes Will smile. She swings at him and he catches it, hissing when the metal collides with his hand and forearm. He hears a crack, and sharp pain lances down his forearm.

He grits his teeth and yanks it from her grip. She stumbles into his body, sending them both crashing to the floor. He rolls them and manages to fight her onto her belly and wraps his hands around her neck again. His left wrist has been compromised but he fights through the pain, uses the adrenaline to his advantage as he squeezes her neck as she kicks and struggles futilely beneath him.

She goes limp, but he doesn't let up his hold. He snarls, as he feels her windpipe crumble beneath his grip. Her body convulses, and she lets out a single, stuttering breath, her eyes closing.

Will stands, hissing at the pain in his wrist, his side, his back. He turns and sees Hannibal still locked in a fight with the third waitress. But Hannibal is strong, he's so strong, and capable. Will smiles as he watches Hannibal kick the woman's knee backwards, snapping it with a loud noise, bone protruding from the back of her leg.

She screams, and falls to her knees, and Hannibal snaps her neck with no effort at all.

Will's smile widens, and he goes tense, as he hears Heather cocking Ethan's gun. He turns to find it leveled on him. Her grip is steady, though she is shining with sweat and stinks of fear as badly as Will's victim did.

"You should have run," he snarls.

Heather clenches her jaw, and lifts the gun. The red lantern flares brightly, blinding them with light, and Will flinches out of the way, narrowly avoiding the bullet as it sings past his ear and embeds itself in the wall behind him.

Hannibal doesn't hesitate. He lunges for Heather and wrestles the gun from her grip, and he and Will converge on her as one. It's as brutal and beautiful as their fight with the dragon, though far shorter. Will tears her throat out on one side when she screams, and Hannibal uses his knife to open up her belly, her organs slipping out and falling in a slick pile on the floor.

Will releases her, and she slumps to the ground, eyes wide and blankly staring up.

He smiles.

"Will." Will turns at the siren call of his mate's voice, lashes low over his hazy eyes as Hannibal comes to him. He touches Will's bleeding neck, his burned flack, his sore back, his bruised wrist.

Will doesn't care about any of that. His eyes are on the blooming bloodstain on Hannibal's stomach, the cut Gregory put on his chest. "You're hurt," he whispers, touching the stain gently. Hannibal shivers against him, his eyes black except for where they are gold.

"I'm alright, darling," he soothes. He cups Will's skull and brings Will's face to his throat. Will breathes in raggedly, and hates the scent of pain on his mate's skin. Hates the scent of others, clinging to him like film. He rakes his nails up Hannibal's arms and into his hair, arching against him.

He knows Hannibal is worried – Will sustained a lot of injuries, and he's only upright by merit of his own survival instincts. But that doesn't matter. They _won_ , Will won, and he wants nothing more than to claim his prize, now. Right now.

He pushes at Hannibal, coaxing him onto his belly on the table. Mindful of his injury, but not nearly clear-headed enough to stop, he untucks Hannibal's shirt and shoves all of his clothes up, baring the scarred tissue from the entry wound and the very base of the ugly brand on his back.

He snarls at the sight of it, and leans down to lick over the edge. His hands shake as they fumble at Hannibal's belt.

"Stay still," he commands. Hannibal shivers, and turns his head so their eyes can meet. "I just -. Please, Hannibal, just stay still."

Hannibal doesn't. Disobedient, wild, _beautiful_ Omega. Will gasps as Hannibal rears up and turns, lunging for Will. He kisses Will deeply and Will moans, wincing when his injured back collides with an askew chair. He stumbles and Hannibal chases him, onto the floor. Will tears at his clothing and moans when Hannibal leans down and noses at his bloody neck, licking over the wound. It's no deeper than a mating bite, and Will knows, in that instant, that Hannibal intends to fit his teeth into the open flesh and scar Will as his own.

" _Yes_ ," he whispers, nodding frantically. He tilts his head back and bares his throat for his mate even as his hands continue to fumble and tear at Hannibal's bloody clothes. The Alpha they felled is nearby, blood stains the ground like rainwater, and Will doesn't give a fuck about either thing.

Hannibal's teeth are sharp, and Will cries out as they sink into the open wound on his neck. A mirroring, sharp pressure comes from his bottom jaw as he traps Will's flesh between his teeth, severing him a second time. Will tears Hannibal's shirt and suit jacket from him as he feels Hannibal bite. Mating bites are normally given during sex, and Alpha normally bites first, giving the Omega the opportunity to resist the full mating and retain their independence and self-control.

The fact that Hannibal bit him first, that Hannibal wants him so badly he won't wait until Will has knotted him, drives whatever remained of Will's stupor and pain and resistance away. Hannibal sucks at his neck, bruising the flesh further – it will scar large and brazen on his throat and Will can't wait for the whole world to see it.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," he gasps, as Hannibal pulls back with blood in his teeth and kisses him fiercely. "Let me -. Let me inside you. Please, Hannibal, I need to be inside you." His throat is torn to shreds and his voice is hoarse and he can hear himself screaming inside their shared mental space. It's dark and warm and wet all around him and Will might go mad if he doesn't get to touch Hannibal more. Now.

Hannibal smiles at him. His eyes shine brightly with gold and love. He kisses Will deeply, and nips at his lower lip. He pushes himself off of Will and finishes removing his own belt, and Will grips his suit pants and tears them down to bare his hard, leaking cock, his strong thighs, dripping with slick.

The scent of Hannibal's slick is one Will has only experienced once before; it was after Will killed Randall and brought him to Hannibal's table like a dog presenting his hunt to his master. He should have known, then, that there was never going to be another option for them. No one can satisfy Hannibal like Will can. No one lights Will's body on fire like Hannibal does.

He unfastens and unzips his own slacks, grinds up hard between Hannibal's legs as he fights to get his clothes off him, to bare himself enough for sex.

Hannibal puts a hand on his throat, keeping him down. "Let me," he purrs, coaxing, soothing. There's venom in Will's veins and Hannibal's voice is the antidote. "Let me do the work, Will. Let me take you."

Will nods. He can't speak anymore. What escapes him when he tries is a mere chorus of desperate, rough growls. Hannibal sighs, smiling, and takes Will's hard cock in hand. He does not hesitate, doesn't tease. He merely positions himself and sinks down, and they slide and lock into place like puzzle pieces finally finding home.

Will knows he won't last long. The blood high makes his entire body sing, and he's in so much pain, losing far too much blood. But he will last long enough to satisfy his mate – he has to. It's his right to claim Hannibal now, to finally close the years of questions and lies and games between them in this single, bloody victory.

He rears up and finds Hannibal's rushing pulse and bites. His teeth know the flesh and scent and taste of his mate. He doesn't bite to injure, though injury is inevitable. His fangs part Hannibal's skin and Hannibal moans into his ear, holding onto him, embracing him and letting him nurse even as his body tightens, so slick and burning hot, around Will's cock.

Will doesn't rip through Hannibal's throat like Hannibal did to him. That's not what this is – Will's mating mark is tender and stained with saliva and adoration. He licks over the wound and purrs weakly when Hannibal rocks his hips, his ass tight and so wet, clenching around Will in deliberate spasm to coax his knot.

He flattens a hand to Hannibal's sluggishly bleeding side and snarls. "They died too quick," he utters, dark and angry. "I want to kill them all over again. _Hannibal_ -."

"I know, my love, I know," Hannibal replies. He's rough-voiced and eager, tipping his head back as Will nuzzles his neck and tests the rush of his pulse with his tongue. Will wraps his arms around Hannibal, holding him fast. He has no strength to help; he will, next time. He'll lay Hannibal out on a bed of bones and roses, and _make love_ to him until Hannibal can't take a second more. He'll replace Hannibal's sweat with his own, knot him again and again, give his hands and his tongue and his entire body to making his mate smell just like this, bloody and raw and pleased, for the rest of his life.

"I -. I can't -." He clenches his jaw, shoulders tensing under Hannibal's hands. It sends pain through every part of him, and his wrist is swollen and he can't grip as tightly as he'd like. Omega needs to know he's strong, needs to know he's worthy.

"Shh." Hannibal nudges their noses together, kisses and purrs and pushes Will to his back. He spreads his knees on the bloodstained floor and rides Will with slow, languid thrusts, like they have all the time in the world, but every motion knocks another brick free of Will's control; the dam will burst, and there will be a flood that washes them both clean.

"Hannibal, _please_ ," he moans, shuddering as Hannibal plants his hands on Will's chest. Hannibal bows his head, arms bent, a tremor of pleasure running up his spine. Will cups his wrist with his injured hand and wraps the fingers of his other one around Hannibal's cock, stroking him tight and quick as he feels Hannibal start to bear down. "That's it, _fuck_."

There are too many words swirling in Will's head, a chaotic litany of praise and adoration. Hannibal, above him, the terrible and divine monster from Will's best dreams and worst nightmares. He dares not close his eyes, he wouldn't miss a single second of this.

He makes it just long enough to feel the first spasm of Hannibal's orgasm, the first hot splash of come on his belly and hand, before he can't fight it anymore. He snarls, loudly, thrumming with victory, and Hannibal sits hard on him and gasps as his body parts around Will's knot. It swells up big and hard and locks them together, prompting Hannibal to go still.

Hannibal shivers with his orgasm, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. He's so beautiful, it makes Will ache. Even as he starts to come and fill his mate, he's ravenous for more. He tugs on Hannibal's wrist and Hannibal smiles at him, bending down carefully so that they can kiss. Again, and again, until Will can't breathe.

With what remains of his strength, he rolls them, so Hannibal is on his back in the pool of blood. He wraps himself up in Hannibal, coaxes his thighs to lift, heels to hook at Will's back even though it makes his injury flare. He pets Hannibal and nuzzles him, kisses whatever part of him he can reach, and purrs as Hannibal's breathing slows and his heartbeat calms in the wake of his orgasm.

Will sighs, the adrenaline crash and backflow of the victory high hitting him all at once. He rests his forehead on Hannibal's shoulder, still holding him as tightly as he's able. He brings his knees forward, cradling Hannibal's body with his thighs, instinctively compelled to angle Hannibal up so that his release pools where his mate is most fertile.

He didn't lie, before – children are not something that will suit them, when all is said and done. But he's not exactly thinking on a higher level than his instincts at the moment.

If Hannibal understands the sentiment, he doesn't comment on it. He pets Will's hair with gentle hands, purring to him soothingly, as Will trembles in his arms. His throat is tight and he feels like he needs to say something, but he can't find the words.

"Will." Hannibal's voice is tender and soft and Will isn't sure whether he's speaking aloud, or in their mind palace; "You are magnificent."

He huffs a laugh. "Not so bad yourself."

Hannibal laughs beneath him.

"I'm sorry about your friends."

"I'm not," Hannibal replies, still idly petting. "This proved to be far more exciting than I had hoped."

Will hums. His eyelids droop with exhaustion. The pain is getting to the point where he can't ignore it. Hannibal sighs, as Will's knot goes down, and he pulls out with a hiss and small whimper of agony. He sits up and cups Will's face, watching his eyes.

"Do you think you're still under the influence of the drug?" he asks.

Will considers it. He looks up, to the red lantern still pulsing dully on the table. Looks to the bodies littered around them. He shakes his head.

"Good. Then it's just the physical we shall have to deal with. We've survived worse."

They have. Will smiles and nuzzles Hannibal's shoulder, sighing heavily.

Hannibal corrects their clothes as best he can, though his shirt is torn to shreds from Will's claws and doesn't do much. He stands, and helps Will to his feet. Will is delirious but manages to remain upright, and rests his good hand on the dining room table.

"I will go recover the remote from Ethan's body," Hannibal tells him. Will bites his lower lip. He doesn't want to be parted from Hannibal, but there is no threat now, he knows that, and Hannibal is in a much better state than he is to go wandering around. Will really shouldn't exacerbate anything. "I'll return shortly."

Will nods, and sits with a heavy sigh at the head of the table. He looks, dispassionately, at Heather's body as Hannibal leaves the room, and then his eyes lift as the door closes, to the red lantern.

He sits forward. It doesn't react to him, merely continues to pulse with a soft, inviting light. He reaches for the tray and drags it close to him. It's rather pretty, he thinks, as an art piece. Well-made, if plain.

He takes it in his hands, warmth emanating from it from the light inside. There is a latch on one of the panes, which he opens, revealing a small candle within it, the flame standing tall and almost completely still.

He sets the lantern down. He's still not completely sure the face he saw wasn't a result of the drug. Hannibal claimed he saw it too, but it's not the first time he's simply gone along with something for the sake of it.

Will rests his elbows on the table, leans in, and blows the flame out. At the same moment, all the shutters on the windows and doors lift. He smiles – correlation, or simple coincidence?

He doesn't really care.

Hannibal returns, and Will looks up. He stands and takes Hannibal's hand, and smiles at him, before looking back to the bodies.

"We'll probably have to burn the whole place down," he says quietly. "I don't want to clean all this up."

"We could simply move on," Hannibal suggests. "I'm not particularly attached to our current home. There are other havens we can find."

Will hums, and says, honestly; "I just want to be with you."

Hannibal cups his face and kisses him. "In that, we are in agreement," he replies with a smile. "Come, darling. I will be worried sick until I've tended to your wounds, and we must move quickly."

Will nods, and Hannibal takes his hand again, and they leave Howsham Hall side by side. The storm is still going, roaring savagely above their heads, rain pelting down harsh and cold on their faces. Will looks up at the clouds, the lightning, and feels the rain on his face, washing away the blood, the sweat, the horror of the night.

He smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Full art post: https://imgur.com/a/zKalSQ7  
> Tumblr teaser: https://vergoftowels-art.tumblr.com/post/624623707857485824/the-red-lantern-a-hannigram-abo-story-for-the-abo  
> Tumblr art post: https://vergoftowels-art.tumblr.com/post/624623727163932672/my-artwork-for-the-2020-hannigram-abo-reverse-bang

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] Art for "The Red Lantern" by HigherMagic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25508284) by [VergofTowels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VergofTowels/pseuds/VergofTowels)




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